


Unbroken

by apokteino



Series: bone trilogy [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:58:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3597198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apokteino/pseuds/apokteino
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four perspectives on Dean and Castiel as humanity relentlessly presses against the borders that keep the angels out, and events begin to catch up with Anna being brought in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbroken

**Author's Note:**

> Contains discussion of dubious consent, hence the archive warning.

Ellen Harvelle has a map on her office wall, and an identical one in her living quarters, opposite the wearied couch that is the only remnant of the bar that once enfolded her life.

The map shows a place with jagged borders, a dark line around the safe places, a mile or so of repeated sigils meant to keep angels out, lines as painstaking as the ones on her wall, rock smoothed by countless feet, following the lines, paper rough from the countless journeys of her fingertips. They are as familiar to her as her daughter's face, because whenever she sees these lines, she remembers what Jo died for. She traces one particular spot, a border once weakened, and that was all it took to kill her daughter, a careless move, and this spot on the map is almost torn, the line dark as night and this, _this_ border reinforced every day, without fail.

She moves away from it, feet aching, trails a hand along the wooden desk that's probably older than she is, papers in neat piles, distinctly military in a way hunters sometimes manage, and sits. She focuses on the desk before her, print small so as not to waste any paper, and reads Dean Winchester's report again.

Six angels died before the angels realized what was going on and changed their pattern in scouting and attacking their borders. That angel of his, Castiel, has so far killed eleven of his own kind. Dean trusts him for it; Ellen does not.

She sees the brokenness in the angel's eyes, inhuman save for that, a glassy blue, but Ellen doesn't trust broken things. Sometimes they keep breaking.

Seven for, six against, was the ultimate vote on that angel's life. Ellen sees the rationality, especially since Anna, but Anna has not left a trail of bodies behind her. Anna lived a human life with human parents, Anna married a young man by the name of Anton. They want to have children.

Castiel is a thing, soulless. Ellen will not forget that. 

A gentle knock on the door. 

"Come in," Ellen calls.

Sam peeks in, opens the door fully and reveals his height when he sees she's actually paying attention to him. She's been known to invite people in without realizing it, so often is her time interrupted. Such things happen, she reasons, when you're part of the council for a fourth of the saved world.

Sam gives her a small, almost shy smile; it's not really shy, speaks more to haunted memories, the things Ellen doesn't know he did. 

"I'll skip the bullshit," Ellen says. "Dean isn't going to let us kill that angel, is he?"

Sam sits carefully in one of the chairs in front of her desk. He has to be careful about it, with his size, but he takes more care than he should, and Ellen knows he's delaying, trying to think of what to say. "I'm not saying he would disobey a direct order," Sam says.

"We have enough useful intel," Ellen says, folding her arms in front of her. "And Anna can provide anything we lack."

"Anna doesn't have her grace."

"Your point being?"

Sam sighs. "Dean thinks – Dean trusts Castiel enough that he would be willing to use Castiel as a direct weapon, not like Anna. He doesn't want Castiel in danger, but he figures that idea might keep Castiel alive."

Ellen snorts. "No."

"He'll fight you on it. I know Dean and he's dug his heels in like a stubborn bull."

Ellen picks up a pencil. "What did you call it?"

"Lima syndrome," Sam replies.

"What I wouldn't give for the internet," Ellen says. "I miss Wikipedia." 

Sam shrugs. "It's basically the inverse of Stockholm Syndrome, what Castiel has, though love –"

"He's actually calling it that?"

"Dean? Of course not. He's allergic to the word when not in near-death situations." Sam starts again. "The degree in which Dean has it is more than I understand the syndrome to be. Honestly, I’m not sure what's going on, but Dean's keeping something from me."

"You think he might be compromised?"

"Of course not. But there's something about Castiel that I don't think we know, and Dean does."

"Sam –" and she almost says she regrets putting this on him, but really, there's no room for that – "I need you to watch them and tell me what you see. Honestly. I'll bring it to the council without Dean present."

"I don't keep secrets from my brother, Ellen," and there's a distinct edge to Sam's voice, a hardness rising in his eyes.

Ellen raises a hand. "Then don't. Tell him. But don't let him influence you. I trust you to do what's best for Dean _and_ us."

Sam nods slowly. "Okay. But this isn't going to end well."

"For Castiel or for us?"

Sam frowns. "I think you left someone out," he says, and leaves.

\--------------------

Ellen squints in the sunlight, stops in her walk for a second to look out; she's got a few minutes to spare. It's a bright day, the clouds of the month before, the result of another attempted attack on the safe land, dubbed either Texas or Freedom, depending on who you asked. The angels correctly surmised that plants are necessary to human survival, and plants need sunlight, so they attempted to change the world's weather to lessen it. It took the better part of the month for them to react by building light lamps with the same properties as normal light (a man in a border town, an engineer who used to design these, became very well known in a short time), and the angels fortunately abandoned the effort. The power drain was enormous, and they probably couldn't have sustained the amount needed to feed the entire population.

They skip around like that. It's like, and Castiel confirmed this, they are continually baffled and rendered uncertain by humanity's survival, and so besides direct attacks, they seem to lack any really creative thinking.

As near as they can tell, with the few border patrols that roam beyond the natural borders (guarded, again, by Castiel's teaching of sigils to render them invisible to angels), the rest of the world has returned to the wild, green overtaking the gray of human constructs.

One of the things she hates most about Castiel is how useful he is. If not for that, this would be so easy. But everything they can learn from him, they have, and Dean fails to see the danger in his continued survival.

Ellen frowns, and begins walking again. She's head for what is called the courtyard for lack of a better term, a large area tucked inside the base, as there are twelve border patrols about to leave. 

She walks up behind the patrol members, waves a patrol leader back. He returns to confirming their orders, having each patrol member repeat the exact path they're taking, what to do in an event of an attack, makes sure everyone knows their partner that they stick to. These are relatively new recruits, only been out a few times, handpicked by Dean and Sam. Shirts are mismatched, though all wear jeans – jeans, once a fashion statement, have returned to the practical item of clothing it began as. A black band along one arm marks them as what they are.  
Her presence starts a few murmurs, but the group of about fifty is almost silent otherwise.

The first patrol leader says, shortly and loudly, "Dismissed! Meet on the outer edge of the base."

They file off, but the patrol leaders remain behind, noting her presence. 

"What is it?" Simpson asks, a young woman with a lot more experience than her appearance would suggest.

"I heard Dean was out here," Ellen says.

"With the angel," another patrol leader says knowingly. "He wants to take the thing out, see if he can hear the other angels talking."

"Dean thinks he hasn't been excluded from the voice of the angelic host yet?" Ellen asks.

"Yeah," the patrol leader says. "Thinks _they_ think it's only that new girl."

'New girl' being Anna, her name not widely spread.

"You know where he is?" Ellen asks.

She's pointed to near the barracks, and with a nod she says, "Thank you," and continues on her way. The barracks looks like a building put together by children with gray legos, each subset mismatched to the whole. It was the first addition constructed, and bears the marks. When she gets closer, sand hot beneath her feet, even through her shoes, a light sweat beginning, she realizes she's already angry.

Dean sitting underneath an awning, Castiel at his feet, face devoid of sweat and strangely alien for it, staring into nothingness. As far as Ellen can tell, Castiel can do this for hours, if not days, a subtle reminder of his alien nature. She's well aware Dean has him do this as a sign of him being broken, a statement of his supposed harmlessness. She doesn't believe it, and finds it hard to think that even Dean, distracted and manipulated as he is by that angel, isn't aware of how dangerous that _thing_ really is.

Dean looks up, and it's not exactly joy on his face. "Ellen."

"You didn't clear it," Ellen snaps.

"He's cleared to be everywhere I am," Dean says, forced calmness. Castiel looks up at him, distracted out of the staring by Dean's voice. Ellen's fairly certain he's not reacting to her.

"That's not what we meant and you know it."

"What they meant; I know what you think, and it's the minority on the council." Dean and Sam are both part of it, of course, and Sam voted with Dean, not because they're brothers, because Sam's too bullheaded for that, and their legendary disagreements are what keeps both of them there.

"Dean, don't test me."

Dean folds his arms and waits.

"He's dangerous, Dean." Ellen turns to Castiel. "How many humans have you killed?"

"Answer," Dean says, not turning away from Ellen.

Castiel's gaze goes distant, regret reflected on blankness. "Three hundred million. So many died there were not enough reapers to take them all, at the time. Some souls wandered for days." 

"Did you want to do it?" Dean asks, still meeting Ellen's eyes. She feels the fury rise at the calm recitation of deaths, but she watches Dean closely, ignoring Castiel.

"No." Soft.

"Why did you?"

"I had already disobeyed an order when the initial attack was brought to bear, and been punished and reeducated, and I was … I was afraid."

Dean nods. "How long did I torture you for?"

Castiel hesitates. "I don't know. I became incapable of telling time beyond a certain point."

Dean finally turns and looks at him, and Ellen sees a strange sadness enter his gaze. "Eight months. Four longer than any other angel I tried to break. As far as I’m concerned, you're forgiven."

"You don't have that right," Ellen snaps.

"Neither do you," Dean retorts. "We can't live in the past. You don't think Anna followed orders before she fell, that everything she did was right? You think killing Cas will make any other angel that doubts more likely to come to us and aid us? Leave Cas alone, Ellen. This gets you nowhere. This gets us nowhere."

"Jo," is all she says.

"This isn't a contest of who suffered more," Dean almost spitting the words out. "Don't let vengeance cloud your judgment." 

"Something else entirely has clouded yours," Ellen says, soft as steel. She takes a closer look at Dean, then adds, "It isn't personal. Part of my job is to minimize risk."

Dean's lips thin, and he holds out his hand to Castiel, who takes it silently, rising to his feet with subtle grace. 

"Barriers will be broken when you take him out, they'll have to be," Ellen points out.

"We'll be careful. You know as well as I that we designed the borders to be redundant, that we designed them so we could take angels in and out if necessary." Inside, actually, they've never taken one out before. No quarter received or given, and things were simpler then.

Dean walks away, and Ellen thinks of Sam.

\--------------------

Anna is another mark of Castiel, the one she thought would be his last. But no – he's still here, in Dean's shadow.

Anna is different. She sits within her body with the ease of someone fully human, she reacts with all the emotion of one, and she married one. Anton, Anna's husband, followed her shortly after she came to this particular outpost, holding her hand, terrified for his wife. He'd already known, and still loved her. That, more than anything, convinced Ellen of Anna's intentions. Angels can't fake emotion, and they can't fake love. 

She wonders, briefly, if the look in Castiel's eyes can be called love, and reminds herself of the millions dead; can something like that love?

Anna and Anton's quarters are in the middle of the barracks, and they always have a guard with them, usually standing outside their door. Anton can wander freely, but Anna is still watched for her own safety. 

Ellen gives the guard a nod, and knocks on the door to the apartment.

Anna opens it, answers with a smile. "Ellen," she says.

\--------------------

Anna makes room for Ellen to pass. She glances around as she enters, apparently sees Anton is sitting at the kitchen table, eating toast, a chunk of homemade butter (rare, and highly prized) atop the table. There's no surprise in Ellen's eyes – she must have been told Anton had finally followed Anna. Anna left and came here on her own, uncertain of the reception she was about to receive.

Ellen doesn't know the real reason Anton remained behind.

Anna sits down at the kitchen table, Ellen following. Anton rises, politely nodding Ellen's way, and sits on the couch. Anna knows he's listening. "What can I do for you?" Anna asks.

"There's something new happening in the border towns," Ellen says briskly. 

Anna blinks. "Tell me."

There are border towns, of course. Humanity is stubborn that way, some people choosing to live on the edge of danger, reckless and independent. People like that have kept humanity alive, have dared strike back, have dared to continue on having children and living. The border towns, of course, are no closer than a mile to the places where angels roam, because there is always that mile of sigils, reinforced daily or weekly by members of the local communities, checked on by border patrols at least weekly.

But the towns themselves? "Tell me," Anna repeats. 

"It began with dreams. Extremely vivid ones, of angels who appear friendly and ask a lot of a questions. Most didn't answer, even thinking they were dreaming, because hatred of angels is pretty ingrained, at this point, but enough did answer that attacks that week did come closer to breaking the line."

"Angels can talk in dreams," Anna says.

"But they have never done so across the border. I thought that was a line they could not pass."

Anna frowns, thinking. "The angels themselves, perhaps not. Most of the pagan gods were killed, but some survived. Perhaps Michael is making use of them."

Ellen leans back. "Well, shit. Thought it might be something like that. How do we guard against them?"

Anna shrugs. "I would attempt, at first, the regular methods – dreamcatchers, and similar objects." Anna takes a breath, says, "There's also some sigils which inhibit communication among angels. That might work across dreams, if they are indeed casting some portion of themselves across the border."

Ellen is silent. Then, "Can angels in captivity communicate across the border?"

"No," Anna says. "I don't see how, at least. Prayers travel across any barrier and angels can hear prayers directed at them, but that requires a soul."

"Praying requires a soul?"

Anna shrugs. "It's a quirk. I cannot pray and make myself heard, for example."

Something dark enters Ellen eyes. The reminder, Anna supposes, that Anna isn't really human, not in her nature, if so in choice. But Ellen says nothing of it, says instead, "I also wanted you to review our larger strategies for extending the border."

"Of course," is Anna's easy reply. "The more ground we take back, the better it is for all of us."

The usage of 'we' and 'us' seems to calm something in Ellen. Ellen's very intelligent, but in some ways, there are threads marked deep within her that can be tweaked, just so, lightly and here and there. Her daughter hangs like a cloud, not any astral spirit, a thing of the mind, but powerful nonetheless. There is a clear divide in Ellen's mind, and Anna wishes it were so easy.

Ellen nods. "I asked you before to think of other things the angels could do to eliminate us."

Anna hesitates. "I'm quite creative," is her dry answer. "I'm not sure you want to know of all the possibilities I thought of."

"Whoever said what you don't know can't hurt you was lying," Ellen says, but with a hint of humor in her eyes. "I would always prefer to know," she adds.

Anna shrugs. "There are many ways they could destroy us. A volcano, a super-massive explosion could bring an ice age. They could tilt the planet to a more extreme angle, bring us out of our current orbit, or many other things. We would be killed by the weather, the endless cold. I don't think large enough portions could survive that, at our current technological development."

Ellen hisses, stops herself, and meets Anna's equally hard gaze.

"Angels are … hammers, you could say," Anna says carefully. "Everything is a nail to hammer. Creativity is often something they lack, despite humans often thinking of creativity being divinely inspired by angels. But I think there's as different reason besides that. Michael doesn't want to destroy the earth, just us. Just you. Doing those things would mean altering the earth forever, and I don't think Michael wants that. I think he wants to create a paradise of his own, on an earth just wiped clean of one species, and not the others."

"So his own limitations save us," Ellen says, a statement more than a question.

"I can't guarantee it," Anna says. "When the plan to loose Lucifer failed, he went wildly off-course. It's impossible to say whether further failure will result in the same reaction. I doubt any angels saw any of Michael's orders coming."

Ellen sits back in the chair, tilts her head back slightly to let the hair falling over her shoulders brush back, and she rubs her neck for a long second before speaking. "Well, there's nothing to be done about those scenarios," she says. 

"No," Anna agrees quietly. 

"Some of that had occurred to some of us, consultants, I guess you would say."

"But I can't say reliably whether or not Michael will do them, which was the point of you asking that question to begin with," Anna says. After a moment, she adds, "And I wasn't there in heaven when this change in Michael occurred." Leaving out who was.

Ellen's dark eyes narrow. "No, I suppose you weren't."

Anna clasps her hands in front of her. Dean's not the only one who doesn't want Castiel dead. She's not sure whether Ellen's aware she cares; whether she's aware that Castiel was always different, that Castiel knew of her own fall and said nothing, warned no one. 

"He's not you," Ellen says at last. 

"No. He committed acts under orders that perhaps I would not have. I can't say for certain. But disobedience, in heaven, results in torture or death."

"I don't accept that argument," Ellen says. "In legal terms, in human terms, the one act you are guilty of, that you are charged with regardless of even the most horrific form of coercion, is murder."

Anna sighs, watching Ellen for a second, watching the anger there fade, and for a moment, she feels sorry for Ellen. She's doing the best she can in a world that's shades of gray. "I understand your anger, but Dean is correct – if you want to win this war, instead of just surviving, you will need angels on your side. Only an angel can kill an angel – at least with any kind of efficiency," she adds dryly.

Ellen shakes her head. "It's not that. It's not even primarily that. It's Dean, this attachment to an angel he tortured – it's bizarre. I fear for Dean's … mental welfare."

"I don't understand it myself," Anna admits. "What exactly is the extent of the relationship?"

Ellen is silent.

"Is it sexual?" Anna is honestly surprised, shifting to horror, and she starts, "That would be –"

"What, interspecies?"

_Rape_ , Anna thinks. Castiel isn't capable of consent, not with those eternally frightened eyes as he held her. She doesn't say that, though. 

"Do you think Castiel can be trusted?" Ellen continues.

Anna exhales roughly, then says, "Yes. Though I suppose from your perspective it would depend on how thoroughly broken Castiel is. But Castiel … Castiel never wanted this fight. Humans intrigued him – not enough to fall, but enough that he sees us – you – as worthy of living, as worthy of God's love."

"And Dean? With Dean?"

Anna frowns. "Castiel has taken your side, our side. He should not be … abused."

"It's not good for Dean either," Ellen says. "He's not like you, Anna. The psychic told us he feels, but he's not human, nor does have any experience of being one. This … relationship cannot be good for either of them."

Anna exhales shakily, brings a hand to her face, rubbing her lower lip. "I can take custody of Castiel."

Ellen looks taken aback. Anna can see several thought shifting on her face, finishing with, "I don't think Dean will agree to that."

"Can he argue it?"

Ellen turns thoughtful. "Maybe not."

\--------------------

Dean throws a book at the wall. "Fuck no!"

They're in Anna's quarters – Dean, Castiel, Anton and Anna. Anton's standing next to Anna, frowning at Dean and edging closer to Anna, arms folded, and as a former Navy SEAL, Anna feels no fear when he's close. She glances up at him, dark hair and eyes, and without losing his focus on Dean he trails a hand down her back. 

Castiel looks frightened for a second, then it passes, as if ascertaining Dean's fury isn't directed at him. He returns to waiting passively.

"He belongs with me – with his family," Anna repeats. When Dean says nothing, standing there and glaring, Castiel close by his side, Anna leaves Anton's side to pick up the book, a precious artifact of the past, and sets it on the table. 

"Was this Ellen's idea?" Dean snaps, finally.

"No. It was mine." She focuses on Castiel. "Cas – I want you safe."

"I'm safe with Dean," Castiel says blankly, looking confused.

"Safe from Dean?" Anna inquires.

"He's fine," Dean says, quick.

"You're raping him." Anna states it plainly.

Dean flinches, badly. "It's not like that," and his tone has gotten softer, more conciliatory. "I care for him."

“Oh, do you?" Anna gets close, close enough to see the flecks in Dean's eyes as he stares at her. "Did you ever try to turn him by talking to him? Or did you just torture him?” 

Dean is taken aback. “I didn’t think –“

“As you never do, a weakness heaven is certainly aware of. And Cas has paid the price.”

Castiel, hesitant: "I like being with Dean."

"Cas," Anna says sadly. "I don't think you know any better." To Dean: "He isn't capable of consenting. You tortured him out of that, that's plain enough."

"He chooses," Dean insists.

"Is that how you rationalize it?" Anton interrupts, voice calm. Dean blinks, and Anton continues, "I don't think you're evil. I've heard of you. But my wife is right." He hesitates, adds, "I know what they do to angels. I was in a border patrol in one of the sectors. I know what you did, and why, and those reasons … they aren't valid anymore, not with him."

"I'm not hurting him," Dean insists. "Yeah, he's fucked up and it's my fault, but you know what? It happened, get over it. We have."

"You haven't let him," Anna retorts. "How do you know, when every instant he's with his torturer, the man who broke him? How do you know he's not just adapting so you won't hurt him? That he's not turning his every thought to avoiding pain by making you happy?"

Dean takes a half-step back, looks to Castiel, who's watching, silent, with a worried gaze. "He chooses," Dean repeats.

"Does he?" Anna.

"You're not taking him from me," Dean says, calmer now. "You're not taking me from him."

"You say he chooses? Then he'll choose the same, won't he, if he's with us, if there's no threat of your presence, no threat of torture?"

"Don't," Dean says.

"Yes," Anna says. "I will." Words and words, and uncertainty rising in Dean's eyes. 

"Have I been bad?" Castiel asks, looking between the two of them. "Are you sending me away?" he asks Dean, terror in his eyes.

Dean takes his hand, tightly clasping. "No, no, I'm not."

"Let him stay with me," Anna says, voice soft. "And let him choose."

Dean closes his eyes.

\--------------------

It's night, moonlight coming in from the window, all the lights turned off to save electricity. Castiel's on the couch, knees curled up to his chin, staring out blankly. Anna sits on the floor beside him, watching him, watching him filter through the thoughts and memories in the absence of anyone the cause of them, Anna so far removed from the life he's lived since she fell and they last spoke. It took him hours to relax like this, asking about Dean every few minutes, breathing high and fast.

He's calmed, now.

"Do you know why I took you from him?" Anna asks quietly.

After a few seconds, reaction delayed, Castiel focuses on her. "Not because I was bad."

Anna smiles, small and tight. "No, not because you were bad. Because I'm worried about you."

Castiel takes this in silently, shifting his gaze away again. She wonders what kind of life he's living, inside his own head so often and so much of the time. He's been like this every time she's seen him, and at first she just thought it was a result of the torture, his mind being broken, but now there's no question to her, that Dean is responsible for this continued … muteness. Anna understood the torture as necessary on some level, but Castiel can't heal in the hands of his torturer. Castiel's gaze skitters back to her. "You're my family," he finally offers.

A real smile. "Yes."

"But Dean, too. And Sam," Castiel adds. "My new family."

"Dean isn't your family," Anna disagrees. "He hurt you, Cas."

"But I was bad, and he was good." 

"He's a torturer, Cas, he doesn't have the moral high ground," Anna snaps. "Do you remember Zachariah, who good he was at punishing those disobedient? How much he enjoyed it? What kind of person he was? This Dean is no better than that, not to me, and he shouldn't be to you."

"Dean didn't enjoy it."

"Did he feel guilt?"

"Not in the beginning," Castiel says. "He was," and Castiel tilts his head, looking lost. "He was so cold, then, but he got better when I did." He looks at Anna. "Do you understand that? He didn't keep going out of spite. He's not Zachariah. He did it for his family, just like the angels."

Interesting that he excludes himself from that group. A change of mind, a change of heart – in Castiel, it seems impossible to tell the difference. But Castiel was never like the others. 

"Do you trust me, Cas?"

"Yes," is Castiel's immediate answer.

"Then I'm asking you to trust me in this. You don't have to do what Dean says, nothing will happen to you."

"Nothing would happen to me with Dean. Except I would be with Dean, then."

"Cas, he tortured you relentlessly. I see the marks of it. Can't you trust me, trust me in this? You would want to be free."

"But – but I want to go back to Dean," Castiel says, earnest eyes making Anna's chest ache.

She takes a deep breath. "Okay. Just - relax, while you're here. You're safe here, I want you to know that and remember that, okay?"

He tilts his head again. "Okay." And smoothes a hand along the arm of the couch. 

Anna rises to her feet, and goes to the small bookcase opposite the couch, takes out a book, flips on the light, and returns to hand it to Castiel. He takes it, palm flat over the cover, and looks up at her. 

"I know you don't sleep," she says gently. "So you can read, if you like. Any of the books we have."

"Thank you," Castiel says softly, gazing down at the book. He moves his shoulders in a familiar way, a way that means he's spreading his wings, and Anna thinks, _finally_. 

She leaves the living room, crawls into the bed she shares with Anton, mattress creaking lightly beneath her. Anton shifts slightly but doesn't sit up, waiting for her to come closer, get under the covers.

Anton raises a hand to her face, fingertips trailing down, to the corner of her lips, and Anna smiles, ticklish. "You okay?" he whispers.

"I don't think Cas will ever be okay," she answers.

\--------------------

Castiel's in the same position when Anna wakes up in the morning, but he's holding a different book, about a third of the way through, and she can tell he's intently reading every word from the way he traces the edges of the page before turning it, head tilting every once in a while, like he's puzzled. She sits next to him, waits for his attention to turn to her.

Castiel looks up from the book after maybe fifteen seconds. "Where did the man go?"

"Anton. He's out on one of the patrols," Anna says. "Doesn't technically need to work, I'm a 'consultant', but he's the kind of person who likes to keep busy."

Castiel considers that. "Is he yours?"

Anna hesitates, wondering what he means by that – if he's being literal or not. "He's my husband. Are you Dean's?"

"Yes."

"In what sense?" Anna presses.

Castiel goes still. "I just am."

"Does … does anything matter, besides Dean?"

Castiel frowns, almost speaks, stops. "No. I'm Dean's dog, but Dean says I'm not, so I think maybe I'm not." He frowns, deeper, and to Anna's shocked silence, adds, "I tested him once."

"Did he pass?" Anna's voice almost breaks, but she calms herself.

"Yes," Castiel says. He meets Anna's eyes for the first time, intent and focused on her, not anything in his head. "I love him."

Anna doesn't doubt it – at least, she doesn't doubt Castiel believes it. "Do you love me?"

It's a long second before Castiel answers, "Yes," eyes unfocused, again. 

She reaches out and touches his face, thumb along his cheekbone, and the way he switches his attention to her – instantly – tells her this is a lot of how Dean communicates, that touch is something Castiel does focus on, absolutely. She shifts her position so she's closer to him, and brings her arm around him, drawing him to her, holding him, hand pressed along the side of his head, and Castiel curls into the contact, eyes almost closing, and she can almost sense the flutter of his wings, does feel the shift in the air, wings so close to the surface due to the restraint bracelets. He exhales, long and low, and she holds him.

He says, "I didn't know someone else could do this," and Anna's heart breaks. 

"Yes," she says. "This is something people give each other."

Castiel hums. "Dean does this," and of course, Anna already knows. "I know what you think," he adds. 

"What do I think, Cas?" she says into his hair.

"He's not hurting me, Anna," Castiel says. "He taught me pain, but he also taught me the opposite."

"By your choice, or his?"

Castiel doesn't answer.

\--------------------

Castiel continues to come out of the fog that seems to hang around him. There's brief moments of total lucidity, reminding Anna of the Castiel she once knew so powerfully, that intentness and curiosity. In some ways, Castiel was never gone, she realizes. His thoughts are skewed, focused on Dean, but something of the self remains. He's stubborn, has an iron will when it comes to Dean. He loves Dean, he trusts Dean, he wants to go back to Dean. He repeats it, not like one trying to convince oneself, but like one who just believes it and it simply _is_.

He reads all their books, and asks questions about what they mean. Somewhere in between, he lets slip that he was the first to reach Dean in hell, and Anna thinks, there. There. Somehow, no details, but there it happened, whatever is between them beyond the torture.

Night, Anton beside her, watching Castiel. Anton mostly has similar thoughts to Anna about Castiel's degree of self-awareness. His thoughts are distorted, but clear in their own way. Castiel is choosing with what mind he has left, Anton says. That's not enough, Anna replies. 

"Can you keep a secret from Dean?" Anna asks. 

Castiel actually takes the time to consider this. "I don't think so."

"Cas, I'm not Dean's enemy," Anna says, deliberately soft.

"I didn't think you were," Castiel says, clearly honest.

"Then can you trust me and keep silent? It's not about anything bad. Dean does want you to think for yourself, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Castiel admits. "What is the secret?"

"I went outside the border," Anton says. 

"But you're alive," Castiel replies matter-of-factly.

Anton smiles, and Anna knows it's genuine. He likes Castiel, in his own way. "I prayed, first, to someone in particular."

"Gabriel," Anna finishes. "He prayed to Gabriel."

Shock flashes across Castiel's face. "And he listened?"

"Yes," Anton says. "I told him about Anna, and I went out beyond the border, and I spoke to him – spoke to him about coming here, to us, to align with humanity."

"Why would Gabriel do that? Gabriel's an archangel," and it's _Castiel_ here, speaking to them. His gaze flits between the two of them, fully focused, thinking and judging.

"Gabriel's been here the whole time, Cas," Anna says. "He came to me when I was a child, though I didn't know him then. He's been playing at being a pagan god, interacting with humanity steadily – albeit in a typically violent way – for thousands upon thousands of years."

"So he knows them," Castiel says. "He learned to care for them."

Anna smiles. "Yes. Not in the same way as you or I, but yes."

"But he can't pass the barrier. Even if he trusted humans enough to bring himself into their grip. He would never submit to being restrained."

"There … is another way across the barrier, just not one any angel would ever consider or do."

Castiel looks down. "Rip out the grace," he says softly. Then, meeting her eyes, "And place it in a container. Separated, he could pass any barrier. Why have you called him here? Do you think he will help?"

"Do you think we can trust them to let him go?"

"I see," Castiel says. "You and I, we are the test."

"I knew you were in there," is Anton's wry interjection. 

"Have they passed?" Castiel asks. 

"So far, yes," Anna says. "We have one other contact in heaven, Cas. Anton's been communicating with him, mostly one-sided through prayer, but he has passed across the barrier before, hidden by sigils I designed."

"Then … then we can know the current situation in heaven."

"And bring others in, if Gabriel joins us," she says. 

Castiel looks up, thoughtful. 

"Cas?"

"You should talk to Sam," Castiel says. "Sam would keep the secret."

"Would Dean?" Anton.

"I think so. If Sam told him to."

That's an interesting response. "Or you?"

"Maybe. Or me," Castiel says, like it hadn't occurred to him.

"I can't bring Gabriel into a situation I don't know for certain I can't get him out of, do you understand?"

"Yes. He is my brother, too," Castiel says. "Like Dean and Sam and you."

A narrow list, but then, her own is much the same. She does not consider heaven her family, not any longer, and she reaches out blindly for Anton's hand, and he's there, like he always is, rational and calm and looking at her, when she turns to him. "Yes," she says softly.

"Is he already coming?" Castiel asks.

"Should be, yes. But I don't know exactly when."

"Who are you going to tell?"

That's the problem. She must tell someone, must coordinate this somehow, if only between her and Castiel, to create some kind of place for those who rebel to come. "We need their help – human help, to create safe places for any who choose to go against Michael."

"Barriers," Castiel says. "They can make them, but we can't, not and break them later."

Acute. Castiel's mind is still there, indeed. "Yes."

"Sam was the one who convinced the council to send the message to you," Castiel says. "You should tell Sam. They will be more likely to listen to him."

"Sam will tell Dean."

"And you fear that?" Castiel asks. "Dean only hurts those who are bad." 

Bad and good. Anna thinks these are terms that Dean used to differentiate between disobedient and obedient. She's not sure he knows the proper meaning anymore. "And Gabriel hasn't been bad?"

"He's not a mass murderer like I am."

Anna flinches, instinctively thinks, _that's not precisely true_ , and knows she shouldn't voice that thought. Gabriel is hardly innocent, in the years he's been active under another name, a capricious god. "Does Dean call you that?"

"At first. Yes. And it is true."

"And Dean's a torturer," Anna snaps.

"Makes us a perfect fit, doesn't it?" Castiel says, with no anger, just a bizarre clarity.

Distorted but clear in his own way. Maybe that's enough, and Anna lets her head fall into her hands, taking a deep breath as she feels Anton's hitched breathing that means he's about to speak, and she puts a hand on his knee to quiet him.

Anna shakes her head, tears slipping out of her eyes. "You are worth so much more than this."

Castiel smiles. "Yes. To him, I am."

"What he did to you –"

"I love him, Anna. Forget the why of it. It doesn't matter. Let me go home."

She thinks of Gabriel, of Sam being the one to convince them to bring her in, of his brother being the one to torture her brother to the point of insanity. She thinks of Castiel being the first to reach Dean, she thinks of how sane Dean is, and knows Castiel did something he has not told her. She thinks of humanity. She thinks of Anton.

And she lets Castiel go.

\--------------------

Dean holds out his hand, and Castiel moves forward to take it, a small, shy smile on his face. It's like and not like the smiles she remembers him having; small, yes, but the shyness is new. But he asked, and all she can do now is give him that choice, one small one in the sea of obedience.

Anna turns away from the relief and joy on Dean's face.

\--------------------

Sam's waiting in the corner of the room, still processing, but listening.

"Speak to him," Anna tells Anton. "Tell him to meet us beyond the barrier, here." She places to a point on the city map.

\--------------------

Gabriel hears it, and moves.

He is acutely aware that at any moment he could die from a bug bite. Malaria, yellow fever, West Nile virus, or, he supposes, he could get the shits. He's already had to go once, an experience both humiliating and disgusting, and his mouth is dry and his feet hurt and being human _sucks_.

No wonder they off themselves with such appalling regularity. 

Passing the miles upon miles of angel barriers was interesting, though, laid upon flat land, miles of desert that he's now walking through. Co-centric rings, he decided. Not like he could do a flyover beforehand, but he figures he's got a good enough grasp on the geography to get where he needs to go, preferably before he keels over from hunger or some other annoying human bodily function. 

It's hot. Why did it have to be Texas that survived, instead of some lovely island in the Caribbean?

He passes another barrier, wrought iron this time, dancing over it carefully. He takes another drink from the canteen he'd willed into existence before ripping his own grace out (carried, carefully, with a strong steel line of chain around his neck, glow long since faded). He can't believe he's actually doing this. He can believe Anna suggested it, but actually doing it? He must be out of his fucking mind. 

Never mind it's his little sister asking for help. Never mind that Gabriel is and always was horrified by Michael's altered plan. He'd never thought Michael would go this far over the deep end, that Michael would actually alter 'fate' when the Winchesters screwed it over (figuratively, not literally – not that Fate isn't hot, and a tiger in bed). Gabriel just hadn't seen any of it coming. He'd heard Michael's call, loud enough every angel in creation heard – probably including Lucifer, still stuck in hell's padded room – telling Gabriel to come home.

He didn't. Partially because he'd left with no intention of coming back, and partially because he wanted no part of this, this twisted adaptation to the failure of the apocalypse, this twisted use of his own family, making murderers of them all – not executions, not orders of God, just choices, as clear and evil as any human has ever made.

He can see the base in the distance. It's the closest to the barrier, thank the myriad gods, not one of the farther ones. He could, of course, have made himself an endless supply of gold, but it's usually goods that are bartered here, the human economy not recovered from the apocalypse. Annoyingly inconvenient. 

He reaches the outer wall, guards like little green army men tucked on top. 

The guard at the gate gives him a skeptical look, when Gabriel ambles up, feet sore and squinting from the sun and blowing sand. He bets he looks as red as a lobster. Fuck. Didn't think that one aspect through – sunscreen. "From a border town?" the guard asks.

"Yes," Gabriel lies. "Can I go in now?"

"Name?" 

"Gabriel. Er. Coyote."

The guard's gaze flickers up. "Interesting name."

"Dad's a dick," Gabriel replies, quite honestly, shuffling his aching feet.

He's let in. The place is shacks, built up around the base, which Gabriel is going to guess was probably air force, judging from the formerly empty space around it. It reminds Gabriel of ancient Egypt, seeming to be at about that level, except for the random assortment of more advanced technology – a few vehicles, working here and there, a few street lights that seem more random than organized, the sound of generators working in the background. There's hoards of people on their feet, going who knows where. The road to the outside seems to be the main thoroughfare, crooked lines of crowds winding their way throughout the rest of the area.

Still, it's easy to know where to go. Anton's instructions were fairly clear.

The actual base is locked down tight from the general populace, not for instances like Gabriel – he knows for a fact that humanity has no idea angels can do this – but for safety reasons against people like Castiel, because even a chained angel is a dangerous angel. They've learned that most angels have no conscience, a stunted sense of right and wrong – or twisted, if it exists at all. Gabriel's own is, well, a result of his unique choices. Turning away from heaven was easy. Learning to live among the myriad of supernatural beings, full of emotion and passion, was entirely different. 

He heads for just outside the base, one of the entrance points.

He's got human eyes and human senses, so it takes him a moment to recognize her. Annael doesn't look like herself at all, so small, tucked within that human body, no wings, no grace, no power, no flare of beautiful light. But it's still her, and he steps up close to her, and she turns slightly to look at him, and she, she knows _him_ right away.

She reaches up and hugs him. No fear. She never feared the archangels, like the others. "Gabriel," she says into his ear, and lets go, and he lets go. 

There's two men standing next to her, one tall and one very tall. Annael gestures to the shorter one with dark hair, and says, "This is my husband, Anton."

"The one with the sweet voice," Gabriel says.

Anton blinks. "If you say so."

"And this is Sam," Annael adds.

"Yes," Gabriel says casually. "Lucy's vessel."

"Lucy?" Sam looks puzzled.

"What, Ruby didn't mention that part? Dean was Michael's, you were Lucifer's."

Annael covers her eyes, and Sam says, "What the hell are you talking about?" He leans over Gabriel and, for a second, Gabriel remembers he can't kill him with a snap of his fingers.

"Ah," and his gaze slides past Sam to Annael. "You've been keeping more secrets than me."

"What other secrets are there?" Sam spits out.

"None," Annael interrupts. "Why burden you with that knowledge? I doubt Castiel even knows whose vessel Dean's was."

Sam does not relax. "Fine." He looks Gabriel up and down, anger not fading. Little Sammy, watched by Lucifer's agents his entire life, fucking things up in the end. One of the pair indirectly responsible for this whole thing. "Why don't we get on with this?"

\--------------------

The three of them, having discussed this among themselves almost to death, speak as one to Sam.

In theory, it's simple. 

The barriers humans can create have proven wildly effective, when the degree of power any angel possesses is considered, much less a large number, as is the case with heaven's forces in comparison with humanity's number. Unequal power made equal. If any small number of angels resisted Michael's plan, they would be crushed. Putting humanity on that side, that small number, unbalances the whole equation, and that's the key. Neither Gabriel nor any realistic amount of angels who don't agree with Michael's plan can have any hope of winning without humanity's help. Without the barriers they create, the safe places, rebellion is pointless. They could only hope to run. With humanity, they have a chance of splitting the enemy into more manageable portions.

"But how are we supposed to trust you?" Sam's sitting on the couch in Annael's apartment.

Gabriel shrugs. "Persuasion is not my thing, kid. But it should be fairly obvious that as much as you don't trust us, we'd also have to trust you and render ourselves completely vulnerable by not being capable of escaping without your cooperation. Hell, that's the case with me. I can't stop you from killing me in this state. But alone, neither of us wins. It's stalemate for you, destruction for us."

Sam nods slowly. "It sounds insane, though. A truce – even cooperation – between angels and humans."

Gabriel's gaze shifts to Annael, sitting on a pulled out chair from the kitchen. Gabriel's on another, legs out to rest his feet. 

"I think it's possible," she says. "I think that you've kept me and Castiel alive proves that. And Gabriel coming here is an immense sign of trust."

He'd fought it, hard, in the delayed conversations rendered possible by Anton, but now's not the time to say that. She convinced him, through Anton, that his presence was necessary to make this plan believable – at least to whoever they spoke to first, whoever they could get to speak on their behalf.

"Do you think you can reasonably convince the council to do this?" Annael asks.

Sam sighs. "Something this big will have to go to the yearly meeting between the four sectors," he says. "But getting it past us would be pretty telling, and yeah, I think I can do it. We're always looking for ways of fighting back. This is fighting back."

"And Dean?"

"Dean wants to keep Castiel alive," is Sam's answer. "I'm not saying he won't be skeptical, but I think I can convince him to go along with this."

"That's two out of six," Annael says. 

"Ellen will be the hardest," Sam says, frowning. "But I'll talk to the others in private. Without telling them about Gabriel," he adds reluctantly. Annael nods.

Gabriel appreciates the sensitivity to his vulnerability with a roll of his eyes. "You'd better not. Not unless you're really damn sure of them."

"Right," Sam says, sharp.

They stare at each other for a long second. Little Sammy fighting back, or not little at all. Gabriel remembers how vulnerable he is, and how does Sam make him think about that?

Gabriel looks at Annael instead of answering Sam. "You said Castiel was safe? I want to see him. Now."

There's something lurking in her eyes as she turns away from him, to Sam. 

"I'll tell Dean and request that," Sam says. "I think it's a reasonable request."

"Oh, so pleased you approve," Gabriel replies, folding his arms.

"You're determined to be an asshole about this, aren't you?" Sam asks mildly.

"I come by it honestly," Gabriel says.

\--------------------

"He was tortured," Anna tells him first. "Dean tortured him to the point of madness, and broke him." And then she tells him the rest.

Gabriel swallows in her words, and for the first time, there's an ache in his gut, somewhere deep inside. The torture and breaking of his brother is horrifying, more than anything Dean's done to him after, with Castiel too out of his mind to refuse. Gabriel's knows why it horrifies him so much, when he didn't know Castiel that well; he was the little angel, constant as time, with wide eyes and faith. Gabriel's always been strongly attached to his family, and that's why he left heaven after Lucifer rebelled and was cast out. It hurt too much, and that's something Gabriel can only admit in his own head. He'd left his family behind and chosen another, and now circumstances have pulled him back, and he hates it. 

But he doesn't hate Annael, or Castiel. They're still family, and he loves them, as much as he still loves Lucifer, and maybe that's the definition of family, loving against your will.

"Can he recover?" Gabriel asks her.

"I don't know," is her answer.

They use Sam's quarters. It's small and cramped with the three of them there, Anna, Gabriel and Sam. Gabriel leans against the wall, waiting, shoulders itching where his wings should be.

Dean comes in first. He observed Dean, the situation unfolding as planned, before the apocalypse truly failed. Dean would have been one of Gabriel's targets, he thinks. Arrogant, certain of himself, hurting others – it's never been difficult to find people that are in need of a good, deadly prank.

Castiel follows him, holding his hand, and he visibly starts when he sees Gabriel. How the child would know him, he's got no idea, but clearly he does.

He looks awed and terrified of Gabriel, and steps closer to Dean, Dean squeezing his hand, resulting in Castiel relaxing. Castiel expects Dean to protect him – a mere human. Gabriel can't do anything in this state, but Castiel doesn't seem to realize that.

Gabriel sees Annael's words, now.

Gabriel shifts from the wall, closer to his brother. "Hello, Castiel."

"We are flames as to the sun," Castiel mutters. Gabriel knows what he means, of course, but, from the stupidly confused look on Dean Winchester's face, he doesn't.

"Do you know why you're here?" Gabriel asks.

"We are your test," Castiel replies, gazing at him directly with that simple question. Then his gaze slides away back to Dean, focused and loving.

Gabriel turns to Dean, feeling absently sick. "You did this to him?"

Dean tenses, and the look on his face is clearly defensive. "I know your mythology, Loki. You tortured and killed people for fun." Dean snorts. "Pagan gods? Seriously?"

Gabriel bristles. "They're more my family than Michael or Raphael." Millennia of friendship, rivalries and infighting that was more honest than anything Michael or Raphael pretended to, certainly. Then he relaxes deliberately. "Fun _justice_ ," Gabriel emphasizes. "Only the dicks got goosed."

"I choose this," and Gabriel's surprised Castiel dared interrupt. Because of both of their presences, Gabriel the old god, Dean the new one.

Gabriel takes in the announcement, the fearful look on Castiel's face, considers it, and decides.

"You could stay with us, if this works," he tells Castiel. "They would have every reason to give you as much freedom as any other angel. As would be required, for this alliance to work."

"I want to stay with Dean," Castiel whispers. "I know you're my family, but he's my family now."

"Are you certain?" and he speaks it not in English, but Enochian. Some humans know the language, of course, but speaking a language that is poorly understood is another matter entirely. "Tell me, then," Gabriel continues, "the last thing I spoke to you, if that is true."

"Take care, little feather," and Castiel says it in English.

Gabriel smiles, faintly. Dean looks puzzled, but remains silent. 

"Does he care for you?" Gabriel asks, in English. 

"Yes," Castiel says. For whatever reason, Castiel in his own head is willing to be with Dean. He saw no dishonesty or fear in Castiel's statement. 

"What have you made him say?" Gabriel demands of Dean, that pit in his stomach turning to anger.

"I didn't make him say anything," Dean snaps. The force of the words make Castiel subtly flinch. "He knows he's safe with me. That I'll never hurt him –"

"Again?" Gabriel interrupts. "Human lies. Angels have their faults, but you lie and lie, don't you?"

Sam – "He's not lying," and his voice is low but without anger. "And this discussion serves no one. Why don't we talk about what we're actually here for?"

"As if Castiel doesn't matter?" Anna interrupts.

"As if Dean doesn't matter?" Sam retorts. "As if we don't, manipulated by _your_ family?"

Gabriel raises a hand, and to his surprise, they actually fall silent, both turning away from each other, met gaze breaking apart, and he can see them both calm, and thinks it's ironic he's the one doing this. He faces Castiel, studies his face. "Do you trust him with us?" Gabriel asks. Not himself; that's plain to see, if Castiel still sees himself as worth anything, worth anything other than what Dean's next praise is, what Dean's next act tells him to be.

Castiel hesitates. Terrified, that's the emotion held secret in his eyes. "You'll be good, not bad."

Good, not bad. Friend, not enemy. He casts a look at Dean, and Dean lifts his chin. Good, not bad.

Annael exhales roughly, but says nothing. Annael was always guided by her emotions. For such she fell.

And most of all, Annael has been enfolded into human society, this human society, with all the knowledge of what she is. If Gabriel wasn't willing to do this on her word alone, he would not have come. 

He stares at Castiel a moment longer, the slightly hunched shoulders, the posture curled into the man by him. He doesn't like this, doesn't think it's right, but there's little to be done about that. Not yet. Maybe someday, he can take Castiel back home, but not yet.

Gabriel turns to Sam. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

\--------------------

Dean's allowed into the meeting. Sam isn't, since he held information back. Gabriel waits outside, a friend of Annael's, no mention of his true identity. That waits for the vote. After a few minutes, Gabriel slides to the floor, his feet still hurting. He probably has blisters, knowing his luck. He can't wait to get out of here, spread his wings and fly, feel the current of the world as an echo of his own power, and not feel the need to use the bathroom.

"You think angels will join you?" Sam asks into the silence. 

"Some," Gabriel says. Joshua knows of a few, and more will come if they are successful. They'll have to take out Raphael first. He's got some ideas about that, ways they can use this alliance to bring Raphael out. Michael's more difficult, if not impossible, partially because he has no vessel. 'Course, there could be ways out of that as well. With the bonus of taking care of Dean in the process. But that's for the future. Raphael first, a knife in the back; Gabriel's got no pride when it comes to his fighting ability. Lure Raphael to earth, separated from the host, maybe offering some surrender or something on humanity's part. 

"What about Castiel?"

Gabriel focuses on him. 

Gabriel doesn't know what the other see when they look at Castiel. Anna, he supposes, sees the wrongness, with her fallen eyes she can see the brokenness of the mind that dwells in that human body. Gabriel only sees a child, one led astray and punished for it. 

"What your brother is doing is wrong," Gabriel says. "And I've seen humanity's sense of right and wrong often enough to know you probably think the same, if you've got any kind of moral center."

"My brother –"

" _My_ brother," Gabriel emphasizes. 

Sam exhales, running a hand through messy hair. "Whatever. They're both in this, however they got there."

Gabriel almost makes a remark about torture being a wonderful prelude to a relationship, but stops himself. Sam knows this. They both know this. "It's sick."

"Why?"

"He's a child."

"Dean?"

"No," Gabriel says with a dirty look. "Cas. Being nearly as old as time doesn't make you an adult, and Cas doesn't seem real capable of good decision making when he's terrified to say no."

"Terrified of you," Sam retorts, "and looking to Dean for protection."

Gabriel purses his lips. "Take a close look, kid, and then tell me the truth, if you think this is a good idea for either of them." To be the abuser is as bad – at least it should be, in Sam's eyes – as to be the abused.

"Is your cooperation dependent on that?"

"No," Gabriel says after a second, and he knows sadness, that thing he's always tried to leave behind, has entered his voice. "I see the big picture. Do you?"

The door opens, and Dean comes out. "They agreed," he says, Castiel at his heel, looking faintly pleased.

"That's good news." The look on Sam's face is one of relief. "I mean, I thought they would – " he glances at Gabriel, because he'd said as much to him – "but, well. You know."

"Yes, I understand very vague statements, it's a gift of mine," Gabriel says. 

Dean glares, subtly. "They'll bring it to the main council in July." He holds out his hand to Castiel, who takes it easily and calmly, following him as they walk away, Gabriel's presence a disturbance, no doubt, to Dean more than Castiel.

"So I have some time to wait, then?" Gabriel asks Sam.

"Yes, unfortunately," Sam says. "But you can stay with Anna in the meantime."

Gabriel doubts he'll stay for long. Anton can contact him, if this is going to take any large amount of time. There's no reason to render himself so vulnerable for an extended period. 

Annael sighs, deeply, then looks up at Castiel and embraces him, again. Awkward and human and strangely comfortable, he hugs her back. Annael to come to him and then takes her small hand in his, and he smiles at her sadly. This one, at least, he can protect.

"Thank you," Sam says, and Gabriel knows this has a double meaning; for the deal, and for letting Castiel go. Something is heavy in Sam's eyes, something brought into light from the brief conversation. Gabriel sees it clearly enough, adapting to this sight, his own grace so faint this is hard to see.

\--------------------

"You're welcome," Gabriel says, and it's probably the first thing that Sam's heard come out of his mouth not shaded with anger or sarcasm, instead sadness. The archangel walks away, and so does Sam, a heavy feeling in his heart.

\--------------------

Sam lays in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. There's no moon tonight, so it's really dark, but Sam still can't sleep. Can't sleep knowing Dean's on the other side of that wall, with Castiel, with that angel, who Sam remembers carefully holding the book Sam gave him, the gratefulness in his eyes when he looked up, and for a moment he saw the Castiel that Dean sees. There's a kind of need there, in those eyes, a need to be touched with gentleness, and Sam had tried his best.

Maybe that's part of it, for Dean. Dean always needed to be needed, and Sam stopped fulfilling that brief long ago, Sam taking his own steps out eventually, needing Dean in the months after Ruby's death at the hands of an angel, and Sam left behind, aching in his heart, and aching in his body for the bloodlust he could no longer sustain. There's been no judgment in Dean's eyes when Sam went through withdrawal, and he intends, he tries for no less for his brother now.

Sam guesses it isn't that surprising, when you consider that Dean spent eight months with Castiel, day in and day out, and he knows that Dean would never have returned Castiel's love if not for the fact that Castiel felt human emotions, that Castiel, in his own way, was trying to be loyal to his family. Castiel broke because he felt, and that was what Dean responded to – Sam saw it in Dean's eyes, a few months in, the guilt he wasn't sure even Dean knew was there. The four other angels Dean tortured never brought that out, because they weren't human. And Castiel, well, he is, in the ways that matter. 

Dean was different without Castiel there. He walked around with a faintly lost look in his eyes, like he was expecting someone to be there when he turned and there was nothing, or only Sam. He can't deny that, can't deny what he saw, the slump of Dean's shoulders, the faint worry that never quite left his face while Castiel stayed with Anna. Neither had gotten any explanation of why she let him come back, though Sam privately suspects it has something to do with convincing Dean to go along with this insane plan of allying with rebel angels. 

Rebel angels.

Sam turns over, and tries to sleep.

\--------------------

The other room is silent when Sam gets up in the morning. Usually, he can hear the faint sound of Dean speaking through the double doors, the interceding bathroom not enough to stop sound from travelling when Dean's has his own door open, brushing his teeth or taking a shower.

Sam frowns, rises to his feet, and opens his door, finding the one opposite open, but Dean isn't there. Dean's not usually this much of an early riser, but Sam shrugs, gets dressed, and goes to the cafeteria. 

Like always, there's a mix of food: tasting either really good or really bad, nothing in between. Fresh from a nearby farm, it tastes wonderful. Just a bit too old, and it's awful. The cafeteria is off to one side of the base, a more recent addition since the one the air force had created is used for a different purpose these days. Meals are served every two hours, around the clock, for patrols coming in or going out at all different times of the day. He gets his own food, on a mismatched, blue tray settled upon others of all colors, and searches the crowd until he finds Dean.

Dean's in the corner, and Sam suddenly realizes why Dean was careful to come here in an off hour. Castiel's with him, but not sitting at his feet.

Sam heads over, sits next to Dean, Castiel sitting opposite, frowning at a tray of food.

"C'mon, I know the meat-thing is stinks, but the apple's delicious," Dean is saying. 

Castiel glances up, looking wary, shifting the apple in his hands. "I don't need to eat."

"But you can enjoy it," Dean says encouragingly. 

"The apples are good," Sam adds, taking a bite of his. He usually eats the most disgusting thing first, figuring an empty stomach is more likely to take what it can get, but hey. Maybe a demonstration is in order.

Dean copies him, taking a large bite of his apple. "Hmmm," he says, exaggerated.

Castiel's eyes narrow briefly, as if he knows he's being manipulated, but he hesitantly takes a bite, chewing with odd stops, confusion and surprise on his face in turns. 

"See?" Dean says.

"An interesting sensation," Castiel replies cautiously.

"But good, right?" Dean asks.

"Yes," Castiel says, with a sudden and shy smile. "It does."

Sam glances at Dean, just in time to see sadness flash briefly across his face. "Well, there you go," Dean says, with no trace of it. He watches Castiel eat the rest of the apple while Dean quickly finishes off his own meal. 

"Thank you," Castiel whispers. 

Dean puts his hand across the table, palm up, and Castiel settles his own hand in it, an oddly intimate touch for out in public. But then, Dean holds Castiel's hand while they walk, and Dean wouldn't do that when he was ten and Sam was six on the way to school. (Though Dean always hovered close, he just wouldn't admit it, even at that age.) Sam supposes the end of the world changed them all, though, made them care less about those things.

"Did you take Cas out?" Sam asks, knowing Dean had at least planned it, but Sam had been so busy rearranging patrols – they're going to try to extend a portion of one of the barriers, take another mile – he doesn't know whether that actually happened.

"Yes," Dean says. "Ellen tried to interfere, but I did take him out with Simpson's patrol."

"That must have been interesting."

Dean frowns. "Yes." He looks at Castiel. "Tell him what you heard."

"I heard a group of angels here on earth talking. I can't hear the ones in heaven, anymore, I don't know why, and it's not just the bracelets," Castiel says. "They've become more cautious recently. That you took down several angel patrols disturbed them. They know someone is feeding you information about how they do things, but they do not think it is me, since they believe me to be dead, like the others captured who killed themselves."

Dean nods. "Yeah. So, it's good news. They know something's going on, but not about Anna, or what's-his-face."

Sam knows perfectly well Dean's just avoiding the name because he thinks Gabriel's an asshole. Sam's not so convinced. Gabriel left, went back across the border, but he'd seen someone who'd spent years away from his family – Sam doesn't think Gabriel knows of the aching need in his own eyes when he'd looked upon Anna and Castiel. "Yes, that's good news," Sam agrees. "What's your plan today?"

"Briefing. You know, the usual," Dean says. "Cas'll be with me, like always."

"Lucky you, taking miles three-ninety to seven-eighty," Sam says, referring to the portion of the border that Dean's dealing with right now, steady and constant.

"Yes, that's me," Dean says. "Luckiest of the bunch."

Sam half-smiles. "I'll see you two later," he says, and rises to get ready to lead out his patrols.

\--------------------

_Sick_ , Gabriel said. _Rape_ , Anna said, though Sam only heard that word for Dean, raging and grieving. _I need you to watch them and tell me what you see_ , Ellen said. He still hasn't had that meeting with Ellen and the rest of the council, though in truth he's not sure how relevant it is, at this point. But the words, the phrases, they echo in Sam's head, endless, there and gone again, replaced with Castiel's shy smile, Dean's upward turned hand.

Just because Castiel isn't human, doesn’t mean he is worthless or that his pain is meaningless, or that he doesn't deserve compassion, and that's why he handed Castiel that book in the first place. But is this the way? Would he better off with Anna and Gabriel, people he'd known his whole life? People who didn't torture him?

And Dean. The way he thinks through ways to make sure Castiel stays useful – and that seems inevitable now, with the vote to ally with the angels – the way he shifts situations for that end. Did he agree to the alliance for Castiel, or for the alliance itself? Sam isn't sure anymore. He sees Dean grow more and more entwined with Castiel, first by blood and pain and the way Dean would spend hours there on the days that Sam knows Castiel had free, days of no pain that Castiel had earned by asking questions. But still, Dean went there, and stayed with him. 

Dean is bound to Sam in ways they can never untangle, and now he's bound to Castiel, and they're left there, the three of them, in a relationship that defies description. 

Is Dean good for Castiel, and is Castiel good for Dean?

He next sees Dean two days later, Castiel, as always, by his side. 

It's been a long day and Sam's covered with dirt and sweat, but he stops by Dean's room, finds them there, sitting on the floor, papers spread before them. Sam can't tell what they are from this distance, but he sees some maps, so they're probably looking at expanding borders again. Sam's own effort had been informed by Castiel's knowledge of angelic patrols, for when the area would be least likely to be patrolled, and which areas are in general the strongest and most capable of quickly being extended.

"Hey," Sam says softly. "Can we talk?"

Dean looks up. "I know that face," he warns. "What is it?" Instead of, _I don't want to talk about your girly feelings, Sam_. Sam hasn't heard that one in years, now.

"You and Cas," Sam says. "Ellen told me to watch you two and report to her."

"She told you to lie to me?" Dean demands, fury rising.

"No," Sam says quickly. "She didn't have a problem with me telling you. I just … haven't, with all that's been going on, and I don't even know if matters anymore, with the changed situation." Though it might be, in terms of deciding where Castiel goes when the time comes they let angels in the border, or at least a section of humanity's controlled zone.

Dean relaxes slightly, but still gets to his feet. "But _you_ still have questions, am I right?"

"What is it, between the two of you? I know there's something else."

Dean folds his arms, but the look on his face isn't defensive, the way it usually is when it comes to Castiel. He looks down at Castiel, and whatever Castiel sees there, he rises to his feet and moves close to Dean. "He was there, in hell," Dean says, looking at Castiel.

"What?"

"Don't you get it, Sammy?" Dean looks sad, turning to Sam. "He's the reason I was sane after hell, and I'm the reason he broke."

Dean tortured Castiel, but Sam knows that's not what Dean's referring to. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"He used pieces of himself to heal my soul, and somehow something got – exchanged. Transferred. It's what made him feel, gave him human emotion." Dean sighs, brokenly, and rubs his face. "He didn't have orders to heal me, Sam, but he did it anyway."

It suddenly all makes sense. How connected they are. They were connected by the torment of hell, there and here. And Dean, if he'd come out insane … they wouldn't have stopped it. The world have ended, completely.

"What pieces of yourself did you give?" Sam asks Castiel.

Dean starts, surprised. Castiel blinks, slowly, then says, "Memories. I don't know of what – they're gone, but they were … pleasant ones, I think."

Dean looks taken aback at this. "Can I access those memories?"

"I don't know. I don't know if they still exist in a recognizable form. Most likely they were absorbed by your soul."

They doomed and saved each other in one act, Dean's soul bound to Castiel, by the parts of himself that Castiel sacrificed for him, and Castiel bound to Dean in return, marked. "Dean," Sam says softly.

Dean sits on the bed and braces himself, visibly.

Sam is going to speak – to say to Dean that this relationship with Castiel isn't good, for either of them, to say that Dean is compromised, to say that Sam is worried about him – but he watches Castiel settle against Dean, curled up to his side with an expression of almost bliss, happiness shaded with distant, unafraid thought, and how natural it is when Dean puts his arm around him, a hidden tension in Dean's eyes fading, and then they smile at each other.

The big picture doesn't matter at all, not here, not now, in this room.

Sam isn't going to say anything to Ellen. 

"I understand," is all Sam says.

He understands both sides of Dean – the part that learned to enjoy hurting and controlling others, and the side that feels guilt every time Cas gives a look of worship and love, and how much Dean tells himself that’s all that matters, that in his own way Cas is happy. That's all that matters, all that can matter, and Sam understands, finally, completely. Dean looks up at Sam and smiles, relief and love.

Mind finally quiet, Sam says nothing at all, closing the door behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> When originally posted, there was some debate about Dean and his relationship with Castiel in this story. All I'll say is that any interpretation is valid - justifiable, horrifying, or both at the same time. ;)


End file.
